


Not Included In The Brochure

by blythechild



Series: Gift Stories 2012 [8]
Category: Criminal Minds, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crime Scenes, Crossover, Developing Relationship, Implied Relationships, M/M, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was standing over the body… Sherlock finds himself in the middle of a B.A.U. investigation, much to his delight and John's frustration.</p><p> </p><p>This is a Criminal Minds/Sherlock crossover. It is also fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters within. It contains the depiction of a dead body and shouldn't be read by those under the age of 14.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Included In The Brochure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Draycevixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/gifts), [kuriadalmatia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuriadalmatia/gifts).



> Thanks to Draycevixen for the prompt, and Kuriadalmatia for added inspiration.

John exited the elevator and immediately felt a sense of foreboding. At the end of the plushly carpeted corridor stood a solid man in a bland suit outside the room across from theirs. He wasn’t leaning, he wasn’t knocking or waiting… he wasn’t even _facing_ the door in question. And when John stepped off the elevator with a tray of coffees in his hand and his sympathetic nervous system going haywire within him, The Suit turned to face him as if John was the person he had intended to meet all along.

“Room number?” The Suit held up his hand to stop John.

“Room 416.” John held up his keycard as further proof of his right to be there. “What’s going on?”

The Suit squinted at his keycard and then nodded and waved him past towards John’s intended destination. “An internal security matter. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t the press.”

_The press?_

John passed The Suit and walked towards his own door. _Maybe Sherlock will know what’s happened…_ He fumbled with the coffee tray and his card key and caught himself looking sideways at the opposite doorway. The door was ajar and strangely lit, as if the room beyond it was bright as well as being strangely muted. John craned his neck a little to get a better angle.

Sherlock was standing over a body.

_Oh bollocks!_

“Sherlock!” John turned and rushed the opposite doorway.

“Hey there, wait a second, buddy!” The Suit blocked his path like the professional football player that he resembled.

“Let me through - that’s my partner…” Coffee sloshed between them and splashed The Suit. This was going to end in tears and a solid thumping if he wasn’t careful. “Sherlock!”

“John?”

“Of course it’s me - who else would it be?” 

The Suit had a pretty good grip on him. More coffee sloshed out of the take-away cups and the man swore loudly. All John could see was suit jacket but he heard voices conferring in the room beyond. A few moments later, footsteps stilled The Suit’s manhandling and a new voice entered the conversation.

“It’s alright, let him through.”

The Suit grunted and released John with a punitive shove that upset what remained of the take-away coffee. John fixed a tight smile to his face and shoved the coffee tray back at him.

“Cheers. Enjoy these.”

John stepped around The Suit and was faced down by _another_ suit, this one of much finer quality encasing a man who radiated a sense of absolute authority. The new suit raised a hand to stop John but the gesture also managed to convey a cautious greeting at the same time.

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner of the F.B.I. And you are… ?”

“Dr. John Watson. I’m Mr. Holmes’ partner.” John absurdly felt as if he should offer the man some sort of secret handshake or crime fighting society badge or something.

“Define ‘partner’.” Agent Hotchner’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Umm, _partner_ … I’m sure that Mr. Holmes has explained that he is a consulting detective?”

“Yes.” The agent’s tone was both even and dubious. John was starting to find the man’s manner irritating.

“I assist him with his cases. We work together, basically.”

“I see. Are you a medical doctor?”

“Yes.” John found it strange that Agent Hotchner would ask him that. Most people just took it for granted that he was a physician.

“Interesting.”

Agent Hotchner turned and walked back into the room - John assumed that it was also a tacit invitation for him to follow. For the first time John could take in the scene. The room’s unusual brightness was due to a perimeter of arc lights that all pointed towards the body curled in the center of the room. The walls and floors were sooty and scorched as if the room had been on fire, but a pristine four foot area encircled the body like some sort of decorative halo. Sherlock was crouched over the body making rapid measurements and the odd birdlike movements that he did when he gave over his intellect to the process of data collection. As if John had tripped an invisible proximity alarm, Sherlock suddenly rose to his feet and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“Ah, John… there you are.” Sherlock looked him up and down critically. “Where’s the coffee?”

“The gentleman at the door has it. He was rather insistent. You can wring out his pants if you’re desperate…”

“I think not.” Sherlock raised a haughty eyebrow that suggested they would discuss John’s failure to procure caffeine at a later time. “This is an interesting one…”

John came to stand very close to Sherlock on the opposite side of the body from the scowling Agent Hotchner. He seemed to be lost while looking at the victim. Standing completely still, he clasped a hand over his thin lips. John suddenly felt as if the agent was doing what Sherlock had done just moments before, except all of his focus and analysis was internalized. John turned towards Sherlock and saw that _he_ was watching Agent Hotchner. Sherlock rarely spared any attention for other investigators… most of the time he forgot their names moments after being introduced…

“How did you manage to get involved in this? I was only gone twenty minutes!” John whispered. 

“Bored.” Sherlock shrugged as if the answer was obvious but when John started to huff he shushed him and laid a calming hand on his arm. “Quiet. He’s almost there…”

 _Almost where?_ John did as he was told and stared at Agent Hotchner. Just as Sherlock predicted, Hotchner suddenly straightened, lowered his hands to his sides and stared back at Sherlock.

“So.” Hotchner began.

“The setting is contrived for our benefit.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.

“Yet it has meaning to the killer.”

“Yes… certainly the effort required to set this up necessitated forethought…”

“It’s not just that.” Hotchner interrupted without looking at Sherlock. He started to circle the body on the floor.

Sherlock’s lip quirked for an instant and was gone; only John witnessed it. “There have been others and the staging is present for each one. Otherwise why would the F.B.I. be interested…”

Hotchner looked up and arched an eyebrow at Sherlock; that was all the confirmation he was going to get. A small flash of resentment lit inside John - he’d never met an investigator with whom Sherlock could tolerate discussing his theories. Even Lestrade didn’t make that cut.

“You mean… the arc lights… they aren’t yours?” John blurted.

“Crime scene unit is en route.” Hotchner shook his head, eyes on the body once again.

“ _Think_ about it, John. You said it yourself… you’ve only been gone twenty minutes…”

“So, you’re saying that the killer lit a fire, murdered the victim, _put out_ the fire again, and then staged the arc lights for effect… and then escaped all within twenty minutes?!”

“No.” Hotchner and Sherlock said it in unison and then looked at each other in surprise. John rolled his eyes. Two personalities used to being the authority in any given room that they entered… great. There might be a lack of room to maneuver if these two decided to go to war suddenly. John was surprised to see Hotchner cede some ground with a nod of his head.

“The staging was done within the twenty minutes that you were absent, John.” Sherlock explained. “The crime itself took considerably longer.”

“But why commit the murder in stages and why wait on a hotel neighbor’s absence to commit the final act? Had the café in the lobby been open, I would’ve returned much sooner… it’s a large risk…”

“Because,” Hotchner spoke up and pointed at both of them. “You two were part of the killer’s staging plan this time around. His pattern has changed: he wanted you involved for some reason.”

Oh no. This is usually the moment that investigators started investigating _them_ , or some crazed megalomaniac suddenly appeared from his hiding place beneath the sofa. John had been eager for a little action in his life after his return from Afghanistan but he wasn’t so fond of the associated doses of crazy that followed in its wake. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to start worrying about another Moriarty now. Americans were so keen to seem superior in all things; he couldn’t imagine how that might manifest in their ‘consulting criminals’…

Sherlock was about to respond but the appearance of a lost college student brought the whole disturbing conversation to a halt. The skinny, befuddled youth walked past The Suit was ease, giving him a worried double take as he did so. He looked around - his eyes first focusing on the body with the same fevered look that both Sherlock and Hotchner had used earlier - and then instead of responding with horror, he made a beeline for Hotchner with a guilty look on his face.

“Hey Hotch. Sorry I’m late… traffic. By the way, did you notice that the security guard the hotel assigned appears to be _wearing_ coffee?”

“ _You_ drove?” Hotchner almost broke into a smile. Almost.

“I can drive.” The young man snipped as he adjusted a bag slung over his shoulder. “Besides, there was no one else available. What have we got here?”

The young man bent forward over the body and frowned in concentration. His fingers tapped out a strange rhythm in the air as if typing observations as he took them in. John saw Sherlock smirk from the corner of his eye and wondered what had come over his friend… surely he didn’t find _this_ American fascinating too?

“Did we find any more pages this time?”

“No.” Hotchner replied and came to stand behind his absorbed colleague.

“Can we turn her over?”

 _Her_ , John thought with approval. The victim was blistered and it was difficult to determine the gender on looks alone. John knew it clinically based on the size of her mastoid process and brow ridge, but he suspected that it would be confirmed by her pelvic arch when the medical examiner got her straightened out of the fetal position that she was locked into. Clearly this college kid knew a thing or two.

“M.E.’s not here yet.” Hotchner peered over the kid’s shoulder. “I’m sure that it’ll be the same as the others.”

“Yes.” The kid nodded and then pointed to the halo surrounding the body. “Look at the delineated heat boundary… solid and crisp, just like the rest.”

His finger swept around until it crossed John and Sherlock standing on the outside of the halo. The young man looked up into their faces as if noticing them for the first time, and his look of wonder and concentration disappeared under a blank, unreadable mask. He stood quickly and watched them.

“You wanna catch me up a bit here, Hotch?” His tone was instructive, not a question at all.

“This is Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Mr. Holmes was first on the scene… they have the room across the hall.” Hotchner nodded towards Sherlock. “Gentlemen, this is my colleague from the F.B.I., Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Oh, you have a doctor as well… how nice for you.” Sherlock smiled. John grimaced. 

“I’m not a medical doctor.” Dr. Reid suddenly turned to face John. “Not like you, Dr. Watson.”

Hotchner and Sherlock gave Dr. Reid twin looks of astonishment. The young doctor offered his hand to John.

“ _The Science of Deduction_ site is engrossing.” Dr. Reid smiled.

“It’s my website.” Sherlock sniffed.

“But Dr. Watson writes it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Syntax, tone, content… _spelling_ …” Reid looked at Sherlock like he should have known better. “While I personally found your tobacco index fascinating, even you must admit that the site has become far more popular under Dr. Watson’s aegis.”

“Yes it has.” Sherlock said distastefully. 

“Thank you, Dr. Reid.” John grinned - he took his victories where he could find them. “So, you don’t consider us suspects then?”

“No.” Hotchner and Reid said at once. As before, Hotchner gave a look and ceded his authority to his colleague, but this time he did it with a tiny smile.

“This appears to be part of a serial pattern that we have been tracking for some time now. Not only does the length of preparation for the staging of each scene preclude your involvement, but also I believe that several of the previous murders occurred while you were investigating various cases in England. It is improbable that you two would suddenly develop a pathological need to kill and in such a highly anachronistic manner, given your well-documented history together. Plus, you know, doing it all on another continent seems a little strange… We’ll take an official statement and have the dates confirmed, but it’s just a pro forma effort.” Dr. Reid grinned with pleasure and rocked on his feet. “If you were viable suspects, Hotch would’ve had you cuffed and sent to Quantico by now.”

“Good to know.” John said warily. 

Hotchner wasn’t smiling, but Sherlock was. That wasn’t always a good sign.

“You mentioned pages?” Sherlock watched Dr. Reid carefully.

“Yes. The UnSub usually leaves random pages from an out-of-print children’s book: _101 Fun Science Experiments For Kids_. I had a copy myself when I was two.”

“I bet you did.” Sherlock mumbled. “Well, that explains it, then…”

Reid and Hotchner nodded as they stared at the body. Sherlock placed a long finger across his lips as he did when he was spooling through ideas in his head. John looked at all of them, and then down at the body, and then back to Sherlock in confusion.

“Explains what?”

“Really, John, it’s so obvious. The unburned ring around the victim, the state of her body?”

John looked at the body more closely. She wasn’t burned after all though from a distance her skin had the shiny bloated appearance that accompanies heat blistering. “Yes, she is rather…”

“Juicy.” Dr. Reid blurted. “If she’s like the others, she’ll appear that way all over, even the parts of her body pressed against the floor.”

“But she wasn’t killed here.” John looked up at Reid. “Perhaps she was killed in another position that would account for her uniform blistering…”

“She’s a boiled frog.” Sherlock snapped, irritated. “She’s been scalded. Her blistered skin is evidence of extreme heat exposure but see that she shows no signs of burns, soot, or other indications of fire. She lacks restraint marks or other obvious injuries. Her clothes are dry, but stiff - suggesting exposure to untreated water and not a result of normal washing. Plus, her clothes have dried to conform to the position that she now holds which means that she was in this position when wet and then held it until her clothes dried. It would be excruciating and yet her body position suggests rest… peacefulness… as if she lay down and allowed it to happen.”

John remembered the boiled frog story from school. It had been mostly disproved in the scientific world, but the story lived on as a cautionary metaphor about how ignorance of gradual change could result in unpleasant consequences. John had no idea why anyone would want to parboil another person. But that’s why Sherlock was around: to imagine the unthinkable and to determine if it was possible.

“Were the pages about the frog experiment?” Sherlock looked back to Dr. Reid.

“No. Each crime scene featured different pages and none addressed the boiled frog syndrome. They crossed all areas of science as well: biology, chemistry, physics…”

“But all of the victims were boiled?”

Dr. Reid nodded.

“Why would someone do that?” John hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

“It doesn’t matter _why_ , John. The only thing that matters is _how_.” Sherlock’s gaze suggested that he was already devising ways to figure that out.

“Of course the ‘why’ matters.” Dr. Reid looked slightly horrified. “The ‘why’ is motivation… pathology… the ‘why’ is the fixed mark that points towards intent, and intent is predictive. When you can accurately predict, you can anticipate, and that’s how we can catch this guy. The ‘how’ is just mechanics and geography.”

John watched as Agent Hotchner took a step towards Dr. Reid and quietly laid a restraining hand along the doctor’s arm. Reid didn’t respond - and didn’t really need restraining - but John felt that the small gesture spoke very loudly about something else, just as most of Hotchner’s gestures had more than one meaning.

“The ‘mechanics’ of this crime are so specific that concentrating on the method of execution will yield a greater chance of apprehension than determining whether or not his mother loved him enough as a child. Just imagine his workspace requirements, or the complex nature of his transportation to and from the various crime scenes… I’m surprised that you haven’t done so already.” Sherlock’s voice was rising, excited by the possibilities.

“We have, Mr. Holmes.” Agent Hotchner’s voice gave nothing away - it was impossible to tell if he was offended. “Our unit has a technical analyst who specializes in those sorts of searches. It turns out to be less definitive an indicator than you might imagine.”

“Yes, yes…” Sherlock waved dismissively and began to pace around the body again. “Every police agency claims to have a resident genius or two… it’s been my experience that it is not the quality of the tools, but the quality of the intellect directing them. It was very fortunate for the F.B.I. that John and I decided to visit your nation’s capital.”

“Sherlock…” John wasn’t completely convinced that the Americans wouldn’t detain them. They seemed polite enough but that was no reason for them to go kicking sand in their faces.

“Now then, I’ll need the crime scene reports from the previous murders - all of them. Scene photos - whatever you have - would be extremely helpful as well as all medical examiner’s reports or autopsies. Any chemical analyses, lab work, or raw data previously collected are also necessary, as well as access to any physical evidence collected… I suppose that I could go to _it_ if it is securely stored. As for the rest, you can have it sent to our hotel room… I’m already quite comfortable there…”

Hotchner and Reid blinked at Sherlock but did little else. Sherlock suddenly looked up at Dr. Reid and nearly pounced on him with a frightening glint in his eye.

“You have an eidetic memory, don’t you? The way you moved your hands when you took in the scene earlier… You can tell me exactly what book pages the killer left behind and what they said…”

“Sherlock!” John moved to rein Sherlock in but wasn’t as quick as Agent Hotchner who placed himself between Sherlock and Dr. Reid in an instant.

“We appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr. Holmes…”

“Of course you do. Where _is_ your crime scene team, by the way? I’d like to brief them before they stomp around in here and ruin the room…”

“But we cannot provide you with any of those things.” Hotchner finished with a long-suffering look on his face and another restraining hand on his colleague.

“Why not?” Sherlock’s eyes snapped to Hotchner.

“You cannot consult on this case, Mr. Holmes. You are a witness.”

Sherlock blinked and frowned. “Nonsense. I just found the body and called the front desk, that’s all.”

“Yes, that’s what we call a witness in this country.”

John watched as Dr. Reid’s alarmed expression melted into the bland one that he’d worn upon their introduction. John didn’t have to be a deductive genius to realize that the young doctor was fighting to hide a smile. His body relaxed behind Agent Hotchner, who had no problem disguising his amusement. If it hadn’t been for the slight crinkling around his eyes, John would have guessed that the man felt nothing at all.

“We would value any insights you have on this victim strictly as it relates to your role as _witness_ ,” Hotchner continued. “But any further involvement would be impossible. I apologize if we led you to think otherwise.”

John expected Sherlock to object vociferously but there was something in Hotchner’s tone that suggested finality. Nevertheless, John was shocked to watch Sherlock stiffen and go stony-eyed, but then respond with a quiet: “That’s disappointing.” Despite the ambivalence that John felt about Agent Hotchner, he was sure that Scotland Yard could use someone like him to manage Sherlock when he wasn’t around; the man seemed to have an affinity for it. 

“We still have to discover how you and Dr. Watson fit into this new pattern. I’m certain that there is meaning in it.” Hotchner said not unkindly. “If you could help us with that aspect it would be appreciated.”

Hotchner began to push Sherlock back towards the hotel room door by invading Sherlock’s personal space as he spoke. It was casual, gentlemanly, but firm, and it worked beautifully. John was envious.

“That’s a neat trick.” John murmured.

“He’s a reformed bully. Sometimes he doesn’t even realize that he’s doing it.”

Dr. Reid was watching Sherlock and Agent Hotchner with amusement, and John decided right there and then that Sherlock had been right about both of them. Dr. Reid suddenly remembered that John was standing there, and began fussing with his messenger bag.

“Mine’s just a bully.” John murmured and smiled when Dr. Reid’s eyes met his. More fussing happened after that, but eventually, John received a small grin for his comment.

“It’s really a shame that we can’t collaborate on this investigation. Sometimes a new set of eyes is exactly what’s needed to crack a case. You and Mr. Holmes certainly come at things in an unconventional way.”

John started walking towards the door with Dr. Reid in tow - after all, he’d never hear the end of it if Sherlock had been escorted from a crime scene and he hadn’t.

“It hasn’t been our experience that investigators are eager for outside help.”

“We’re not your typical set of investigators.”

 _To say the least_ , John thought as they reached the doorway. The Suit stood aside, reeking of resentment and stale coffee, but was prevented from delivering a parting shot by the arrival of C.S.U. techs. Dr. Reid waved them in with an informal nod and a few quick comments, and then walked John across the hall to his room. Agent Hotchner was on his way out as he was going in.

“He’s not happy.” Hotchner said simply.

“I’m not sure that happiness is concept that Sherlock finds appealing.”

“Regardless, I’m sorry to have upset him - to have upset you both. I tend to get tunnel vision on the more perplexing cases… it was unprofessional of me.”

“Fascinating.” Dr. Reid said under his breath, which garnered him a reproving glare from Hotchner.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” John watched as the strange Americans seemed to have a silent conversation with each other in his doorway. “He’ll be onto the next thing before lunch. Thank you for being so diffident, Agent Hotchner - most people just settle for telling him to sod off.”

“We’ll be back after C.S.U. finishes up to take a statement, and we’ll need contact information since this is a temporary address for you.”

John nodded.

“Murder’s not much of a vacation.” Dr. Reid said absently.

John smiled a little thinking about the sulking man in the room behind him. “I suppose that depends on who you ask, but yes, it certainly wasn’t on _my_ itinerary. I’m just glad that it won’t end in an interrogation room. Or a prison cell.”

 

***

Sherlock was sprawled out on the length of the sofa with the fingers of one hand tented over his eyes in a pose that John had come to identify as purposeful brooding. He smirked a little as he looked over the room service menu and considered a second attempt at coffee.

“They _need_ me.”

“No one’s doubting that, Sherlock, not even them. I think that they’d be happy to have your help if you weren’t the bloke who found the body in the first place… do you know, that might be the first and last time that I get to make that statement? Hmmmm…”

Sherlock turned his head and cast a baleful eye at John. John ignored him and flipped to the lunch section of the menu.

“They are an interesting couple though, aren’t they?” John murmured.

“You caught that.” He could hear the smile in Sherlock’s voice. “Their quirks as individuals are diverting, but when considered as a couple they seem… almost improbable.”

John laid a finger on a menu item and arched an eyebrow at Sherlock. “Not _that_ improbable…”

“Whatever. You think everyone is sleeping with everyone anyway…”

“What? I most certainly do not-”

John’s huffing was cut off by a dismissive wave from his supine couch adornment, and he went back to considering the menu. Considering _a lunch for one_ from the menu…

“I wonder if their romantic entanglement makes them better investigators.” Sherlock sat up and began addressing the wallpaper. “Conventional wisdom dictates that emotional connections impede higher brain function… the human endocrine system is not a subtle mechanism and not easily subverted. But, familiarity does breed a useful shorthand…”

“You do loathe conversing in general…”

“I do.” Sherlock nodded as if the wallpaper had added something to the conversation. “It’s a concept that might be worth considering.”

Sherlock missed John’s slack-jawed expression of shock in favor of staring out the hotel window. John cleared his throat a few times and tried to rearrange his expression when Sherlock turned around and looked at him critically.

“What’s the matter?”

“Ummm, nothing… nothing. Lunch?” John waved the menu around.

“ _Coffee._ ” Sherlock growled and then turned back to his view.

“Yes… coffee, of course.”

And just like that, Sherlock was back to considering caffeine and parboiled humans instead of the benefits of bedding one’s investigation partner.

***

Hotch and Reid sat at the conference table with the combined contents of eight ‘boiled frog’ crime scenes spread out between them. Reid had his nose in a toxicology report but Hotch could feel his eyes flicking to him every few minutes.

“What’s on your mind?” He said eventually.

“You seemed pretty taken with Holmes today. I can’t remember a time when you revealed so much of a case to a witness.”

“He’s not much of a witness. Discovering a body barely qualifies… besides, you could never let him testify. Could you imagine him on the stand? He’s a prosecutorial nightmare.” Hotch smiled a little and flipped the page of his victim report.

“I agree - he isn’t much of a witness - but that’s not the point I was making, though your answer is sort of circling it.” Reid raised an eyebrow. “I sense a budding bromance.”

“Bromance?” It was Hotch’s turn to quirk a dubious eyebrow. “You’ve been spending too much time with Morgan.”

“I’m so much more ‘street’ than you know.” Reid grinned. “But seriously, would you have considered consulting with Holmes if regulations had allowed it?”

“I’d do just about anything to jumpstart this case, even battle the ego of Sherlock Holmes.” Hotch sighed looking at the sea of paperwork in front of him that he had already reviewed a dozen times. He stared for a long, hard minute and then snapped back to the conversation as if he had never wandered away. “I don’t think that I have enough energy for more than one genius ‘bromance’ at a time. You have nothing to worry about.”

Reid stood up and rooted through his bag until he produced a travel mug. “Imagine my relief at hearing that I made the cut.”

“Imagine Dr. Watson’s relief.” Hotch searched Reid’s face for any trace of insecurity. He couldn’t imagine that Reid was being serious but he wanted to be absolutely sure.

“Poor Watson. I can’t help feeling that he’s a little lost when it comes to that. He’ll have his hands full if he and Holmes ever get there.”

“I think that it’s inevitable.” Hotch said quietly. “And it’s not so hard if you really want it.”

Reid held Hotch’s gaze for a long time without saying or doing a thing. They had become very good at detailed non-verbal conversations over the years; it was an occupational hazard. They were having a pretty amazing one right now. It ended when Reid walked over to Hotch’s chair and casually laid a hand on Hotch’s arm. The tip of Reid’s finger touched Hotch’s wrist below his shirt cuff.

“I’m off for a coffee run. Want one?” Reid’s voice was very soft.

“Please. You know how I like it.”

“Yes, I do.” Reid’s hand pressed down a little harder for an instant and then he shuffled out of the room in his search for caffeine.


End file.
